What I See
by mia101
Summary: Booth helps Temperance take a moment to appreciate the seasons.


_**so... i kinda forgot to do an author's note when i first posted this earlier in the evening because... well, i'm a dolt, and i was running off to have dinner with friends and was late picking someone up. whoops. anyway, this is just a one-shot, something to kill the time, and i thought i'd post if for the hell of it. i had a lovely day today, the sun was shining in northern california and i felt like talking about spring. (although, for me, coming from chicago, it's felt like spring since january, so whatever.)**_

_**anyway, hope you enjoy. i'm not really a one-shot girl, generally, so feedback would be nice. xoxo mia**_

**What I See.**

**A one-shot.**

The flickers of light that stream through the windows make the landscape jump, a flashing horizontal filmstrip. Hauling her eyes from the first hints of green that sprout along the county highway, Temperance Brennan settles her gaze on her partner where he sits behind the wheel of the FBI issued Tahoe.

His shirt is a soft, robin's egg blue. It is a simple t-shirt, peeking out from beneath his standard army green jacket that he often wears in the field. She's never seen him in such a color, and before he'd slid on his mirrored sunglasses, his eyes had seemed a warmer, deeper brown in contrast.

She shifts in her seat, wondering why she feels so distracted by her partner today. He's been relatively quiet since picking her up this morning, but his mood seems light – at the moment his fingers drum easily on the steering wheel. The sunlight highlights the strong planes of his face, and his hair still seems to hold a bit of dampness near his ears and along the nape of his neck. He must have showered right before picking her up. His jaw moves with the piece of gum he's working between his teeth.

He pulls the truck to the side suddenly, heading down a dirt road lined with newly budding trees. There are already vehicles near the patch of river ahead, and he pulls up next to the Fire Marshall's SUV, parking easily.

"Alright, Bones, have at it," he murmurs.

She isn't sure why she's feeling so awkward around him today. Noticing that he looks nice in a particular color of shirt should not be enough to throw her, and she mutters something grumpily in return, her hand reaching for the door handle.

She's surprised when he suddenly reaches across the seat, flipping open the glove compartment in front of her knees before she's had a chance to even pull up the lock, and his head dips down as he searches for something.

He's having trouble locating whatever it is, and her stomach flutters slightly as she's surrounded by his scent, his head practically in her lap. He smells like aftershave and soap and cinnamon gum, and she squirms slightly at her bodily reaction.

"Booth," she says, exasperated. "What are you looking for?"

He tilts his head up and grins at her, his smile stretching his face, and she imagines his eyes twinkling behind the sunglasses. "A piece of paper with the name of the sheriff on it – I already forgot what she said on the phone."

He digs for another moment and then suddenly holds up the slip triumphantly. "There – Kate McDonald." He sticks it in his pocket. "Remember that."

She rolls her eyes and he smiles at her again. "What's got you all moody today, huh? It's a beautiful day, Bones. Sun's finally shining; spring's almost here." He taps the end of her nose with his finger. "Smile, would you?"

Pulling up on the lock, she shoves open the passenger door. "Spring Equinox was on the twenty-first of March. The term almost is no longer correct."

He ignores her comment, jumping down easily from the truck and making his way over to the police officers and workers surrounding the body that she can see lying on a piece of tarp. It's already been moved from where it was found, and she finds this only enhances her irritation.

Tugging down her own pair of sunglasses from where they're perched on the top of her head, she hurries over towards him but her pace slows when she sees him talking to the sheriff.

She's young and beautiful, beaming up at him. The sun is catching the strands of her blond hair that have escaped from her ponytail, and her body fits neatly in her uniform.

And Booth is smiling back, his sunglasses now tucked over the collar of that blue t-shirt, his chocolate eyes dancing at whatever she's said.

The sheriff reminds Temperance of Cam in a way – she looks tough but feminine, and she supposes she shouldn't be surprised he's already responding as he is. Apparently, he's got a type.

Tugging a pair of gloves from her pocket, she bypasses the two of them without a word, crouching next to the remains. She quickly assesses sex and approximate age, but lifts her head when she hears the sheriff's laughter float towards her, frowning. Who laughs at crime scene?

There is scraping on the left distal fibula that's abnormal, and she lifts the leg bone slightly to get a closer look when she hears her name.

"Bones," her partner says, approaching the edge of the tarp. "This is Sheriff McDonald."

She stands up, snapping her gloves off sharply, and she sees the flash in his eyes that means he recognizes that she's about to be rude. "Why was the body moved?"

The sheriff's smile slips slightly as she brushes her hair from her face. " A boater dragged it from its original location when it got stuck on his fishing gear, Dr. Brennan. We felt it was best to pull it out immediately to prevent further damage."

She sighs, tossing her gloves on to the tarp, speaking directly to her partner and ignoring the woman next to him. "Let's wrap it all up, tarp and all. Hodgins will most likely have to come out here to collect samples and see if they vary upriver."

He gives her a look, letting her know that her rudeness is unappreciated, but she ignores him. As she heads back towards the Tahoe to grab her phone, she hears him excusing her behavior to the woman and it only enflames her further.

**xoxoxoxoxooxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo**

It takes him at least another twenty minutes to return to the truck, and she's just hanging up the phone with Jack when he tugs his own door open.

Boosting himself up next to her, he gives her a look. "What was _that_ all about?"

She drops her phone in her lap. "I don't know what you're referring to."

"Your attitude," he says, starting the engine. "You spent about three and a half minutes with the body, and you wouldn't even look at the sheriff."

"Yeah, well, you did enough of that for the both of us," she mutters.

He looks at her sharply, his eyebrows arching as he tugs off his sunglasses. "Bones, is something wrong? I mean, it's not exactly like you're a people person, but you seem particularly… irritable today."

She pauses, meeting his eyes, and she still sees warmth in them, despite the snide comment she's just made. Unsure what to say, she glances again at his shirt. "That's a good color on you."

He glances down at his chest in surprise. "Thanks. But I want to know if anything's –"

"The victim's male, approximately twenty-five to thirty," she blurts out, turning to look out the front windshield. "Has abnormal scraping on the left distal fibula as well as the right tibia that I'm unable to –"

"Bones."

She pauses. "What?"

He looks as if he's about to ask her something else, but he suddenly stops, shaking his head. "Nothing."

It's the answer she's hoping for, and she turns her head, gazing out the window as he puts the truck in reverse. Branches scrape the windows as he pulls back onto the narrow road, and she bites her lip as they head towards the highway and D.C.

This isn't the first time since returning from Peru that she's found herself snappy and irritable in his presence. In fact, she's starting to feel bipolar when with him, bouncing back and forth between comfort and ease and awkwardness and irritation.

Damn Caroline and her stupid kiss.

At night, when she's alone under her quilt and her eyes are closed tightly shut, she can almost still taste him. It had been so slight; their tongues touching for only the briefest of moments, but it had left her very confused and more than a little frustrated.

And lately, it also seems to have left her reactions to him uncontrollable. All it took today was seeing him smile at another women and she's barely able to look at him or manage basic social niceties – and it pisses her off. She doesn't like feeling out of control.

She sneaks a peek at him from beneath her lashes and sees one of his hands on the wheel while his other arm rests in the open window, the breeze ruffling his hair. He looks relaxed, easy. He doesn't appear as if he's the least bit tormented by the same thoughts that are now eating at her on a daily basis.

She remembers the conversation at the diner, the way his eyes had sparkled as he'd leaned closer, the way his lips had curved slightly as he spoke of making love. She wonders what that means; _making love_. Is love actually made? Does it exist before you make love? Does it feel different, or is it just another label to make something biological emotive?

Had he made love with Cam, with Rebecca? He'd made Parker with his ex-girlfriend, had asked her to marry him. When he'd spoken of love making, he'd spoken as if from experience. And she finds herself wondering who it is he's made love with – if it's one woman, many women? If he ran into the sheriff from today at a bar and they went back to his house, would they make love? Have a quick fuck? If they dated first would it be different?

She shakes her head, trying to force the thoughts from her head, trying to trace the skeleton that's in her memory from the site. _This isn't you, Temperance. You don't concern yourself with these kinds of things._

"Bones."

She looks up quickly, flushing, worrying for a moment that he can read her thoughts, can see them scrolling across her forehead like a billboard.

"What?"

"Are you going to look at the body first?"

She frowns. "Zach will probably photograph the remains first." She pauses. "Why?"

"So you have a couple of minutes?"

"I suppose."

He smiles slightly, and there it is again, that glint in his eye, and something flutters in her stomach. "Good."

He turns back to the road, still smiling, and she shifts anxiously in her seat. "What are you smiling about?"

He shakes his head slowly, directing the car off another turn with a simple twist of his wrist, and she find herself thinking that it's sexy, the ease in which he drives, the relaxed quality to his movements.

"Booth, where are we going?' she asks, attempting to have some air of indifference to her voice. "We need to go back to work."

"We can take five minutes," he says calmly, turning down yet another dirt road in the same direction of the river. He slows down, the Tahoe bumping over the uneven earth, and she finds herself biting her lip, wondering what he's up to.

And all of a sudden the car is stopped, and he's climbing out, placing his sunglasses back over those brown eyes that have had her so on edge all morning. Looking around, she sees they are stopped along a small bank that juts out slightly into the curve of the river, and she furrows her brow, hopping out of the truck along with him.

"I don't get it," she says quietly, coming up next to him. "What are we looking at?"

He sighs, turning towards her, and suddenly his large hand is covering her eyes and she starts, attempting to pull away.

"Relax," he soothes. "Just close your eyes."

She does as he asks, but he moves behind her, keeping his hand in front of her face in case she peeks. She can feel him against her back, can feel his forearm against her shoulder, and when he speaks, she can feel his breath at the back of her neck.

"Take a deep breath," he instructs her, and she hesitates for a moment, but when he doesn't say anything further, she does as she's told, inhaling deeply. The air is fresh, just a slight sharpness still left, but still sweet, thick with the scent of damp soil and snow finally melted away.

"What do you smell?" he asks quietly, his voice close to her ear.

"Soil," she says quietly. "Grass and river." She pauses. "Your aftershave."

"Mmmmm," he murmurs, apparently pleased with her answer. "What do you hear?"

She smiles, despite herself. "Birds," she whispers. "Rushing water, wind moving through new leaves."

He's quiet for another moment, and then she hears him speak again, and this time his voice and breath against her skin makes her shiver. "And what do you feel?"

_So many things, _she thinks. So many things she isn't sure she understands, and so she starts listing off observations methodically, slowly, keeping her voice low.

"I feel breeze, on my face," she says carefully. "I feel a slight chill in the air, but I also feel the sun, which is warm." She pauses, keeping her eyes closed underneath his hand, searching her body for more sensation.

"You," she finishes softly. "I also feel you. Your hand is on my face, but I can feel you against my back, can feel the heat from you through my jacket; or maybe it's just that your body is blocking the wind…"

"And how do you feel right now, in this moment?" he whispers.

She takes another deep breath, trying to decide what that means, what kind of answer he's looking for. "Well, with my eyes covered, my other senses are heightened, so I –"

"That's not what I meant."

"Oh." She fumbles for a better answer, not sure what to say. She only feels this way with him for some reason, only feels as if her answers are all wrong, as if she doesn't understand what a normal person would say in response.

And then another gust of wind sweeps by, pulling her hair across her face and his hand like ribbons, and he tucks closer to her, his body instinctively curling around hers to protect her from the breeze, and she suddenly knows.

"Happy," she blurts out. "I feel happy."

He chuckles slightly, and she can hear the smile in his voice. "Good," he whispers. "That's good."

He lowers his hand slowly from her eyes, and it falls easily to her hip, as if it were completely natural for him to do so, and they stand there for a few moments, watching the river rush by.

"Booth," she says quietly, without thinking. "Do you remember the kiss? The one Caroline blackmailed me into?"

It takes him a moment to respond, but he doesn't move his hand from her hip. "Yes," he murmurs.

She takes a deep breath. "How did you…?" She curses herself inwardly, feeling like a schoolgirl. "Do you think about it?" she blurts out.

Again he's quiet, but he eventually answers. "Yes."

She feels a rush run through her, a thrill, and she has to bite down the urge to ask him how often, how much, how intensely. She just nods. "Oh."

His other hand slips to her hip and he turns her easily, bringing her around to face him, and the sunlight is warm on his face, the river reflected in his eyes. "Why are you wondering?"

She bites her lip, dropping her chin slightly, staring again at that robin's egg blue of his shirt. "I don't know."

"It was hardly a kiss," he says quietly, and her she snaps her head up again, her eyes drawn like a magnet to his own.

"It wasn't?"

A slight smile teases his lips, but his eyes, though they remain warm, are serious. "Well, no. We had an audience – and it was blackmail, and for someone else's amusement."

"Oh," she says on a breath. "I guess that's true, I just –"

"What?"

She hesitates. "I just thought it was strange, I guess. That it happened, and we never said anything else, or…"

"It's not what I pictured," he jokes, shaking his head. "If that's what you mean."

She jumps on his words instantly. "You. – you've pictured it?"

He stills, meeting her eyes. "Bones…."

"Have you?" she persists, suddenly not caring how she sounds or what she's really asking.

She can still feel the heat from his hands through the cotton of her blue field suit, and his eyes are an array of colors, fragmented in the warm light of the sun.

When he doesn't answer, she feels her mouth moving again, her voice strong despite the trembling that's somewhere around her knees. "How did you picture it?"

His eyes darken for a moment, and she feels her heart crash into her ribcage, her breath catching when he tilts his head slightly. His lips hover over hers, and she lets her eyes fall closed, and this time, when their lips meet, she isn't counting, nor is she leading. She's falling.

He's gentle, but his mouth opens against hers, and she follows, allowing him to catch her upper lip between his own, to slide his hands from her hips to her lower back and tug her closer.

She gasps slightly, her breasts growing heavy, a clutching in her crotch nearly rocking her, and as she does so, he sweeps his tongue into her mouth, feeling like velvet, and it slides against her own.

And the breeze comes again, sliding through her hair along with his fingers, the chill in the air causing her to tuck more closely into his body, and the scent of him surrounding her, and Temperance Brennan realizes that yes, it is spring.


End file.
